An occurance in jealousy
by Andie Leigh
Summary: Pietro gets jealous, overreacts and is rewarded for such. ((SIBLING INCEST BETWEEN PIETRO AND WANDA/QUICKSILVER AND SCARLET WITCH - IF THAT IS NOT YOUR THING THEN YOU SHOULD NOT READ THIS FIC))


Pietro sighed, drumming his fingers along the table agitatedly. His sharp eyes followed the mans movements across the room, as the strangers fingers grazed across his sisters arm lightly, an easy laughter slipping from his lips.

Pietro's grip tightened on the glass considerably at the contact between the two, the fury in his gaze only barley contained.

Who did this man think he was? Wanda was not his to touch, or hold, or smile at her the way he was doing so now.

Wanda was too good for him, she was too good to be here, in this stuffy room, with these tacky people. Wanda was an avenger, and she was his sister.

His.

He knew it'd been a bad idea to come to the Stark man's party, and had barked in laughter when the invitation had arrived at the small room he and Wanda had claimed in the Avengers institute, shaking his head in amusement as he'd moved to throw it away.

Wanda had stopped him before he could, and the pleading excitment in her eyes as she had skimmed the invitation had been enough for him to relent, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she'd wound her body around his in thanks.

(Honestly, he didn't even know why Tony was throwing a party. He thought it might have something to do with a wedding anniversary with Pepper, but after the first fifteen or so parties, he'd learned it was quite useless to chart them.)

He really hadn't wanted to go, to endure mindless chatter with people he barley knew, much less liked, but the stress of saving the world had began to get to Wanda, he knew, and the cracks in her armour were more obvious than ever, cracking under the stress.

He worried about his little sister (it seemed aside from saving the world, that's all he seemed to be doing these days), and there was nothing he wanted more than to see her happy, even if only for a little time.

So yes, he'd agreed, and he'd regretted it the second he'd stepped into the room, where too-loud music played and too many eyes wandered over to Wanda, or more specifically, they wandered over to the plunging neckline of Wanda's shirt.

As if you could even call it that.

Which he didn't.

He'd balked when she'd revealed her outfit - a thin red camisole that barley concealed her and a pair of dark denim shorts, completed with tears and rips along the seams and generally throughout.

She'd worn very little makeup, with a dusting of dark eye shadow and a hint of eyeliner, and completed the look with lipstick - her favorite ruby red one.

Pietro had shook his head repeatedly as he turned his body away from Wanda's form.

"Pietro? What are you doing?"

"Turning around so you can change."

"What? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" She asked self consciously, glancing down at her outfit.

"You're hardly wearing anything, Wanda - that's what's wrong."

"Oh don't be so dramatic, brother! What I'm wearing is fine - Natasha leant it to me!" She'd exclaimed, grinning.

"Well now I see the problem."

"Pietro, stop it. I'm not changing, I like what I'm wearing."

"As I'm sure will many of the male attendants."

She'd rolled her eyes then and had refused to hear any more of his arguments, her eyes shining in victory when he'd hoisted her up in his arms and ran them over to the party, mumbling complaints all the way.

The whole night he'd been on edge, sticking to Wanda's side and glaring harshly at any male who'd attempted to engage in conversation with her.

Even Thor had not been exempt from his protective glare, and as Thor had attempted to fold Wanda into his arms in a congratulary hug concerning their latest mission, Pietro had entwined his sisters hands with his own, pulling her gently against his side and edging away from the man.

Thor had only laughed, murmuring that he was the same with Jane.

Eventually though, Wanda had snapped, ordering Pietro away from her side under the pretense that she was thirsty.

He'd rushed to get her a drink, and still had not been fast enough to stop the conversation the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had struck up with her. Huffing, he'd immediantly began to stalk towards the man, but the heat of Wanda's glare had stopped him in his tracks, followed by a tiny shake of the head.

He'd looked on with hurt, but she'd avoided his gaze, laughing and smiling with the man in front of her.

Pietro had slammed down in a seat at the bar, urging the alcohol to do more for him than it was (being fast had it's drawbacks from time to time), which was how he came to be for a large portion of the night - trying in vain to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a glass that remained frustratingly clear. (Wasn't being drunk supposed to make things blurry?)

Wanda had spent the whole night laughing, chatting, with even the ocassional dance thrown in. (That part was the hardest - watching other men place their rough hands against the smooth contours of Wanda's body and slip into places that made him want to snap their hands off.)

He supposed his dark glare must have traveled across the room, because Thor dropped down beside him, and wordlessly poured him a drink from a strange bottle - Asgardian, he'd mentioned it was.

Whatever it was, it burned down the back of his throat and filled the empty space in his stomach he'd been trying to fill all night.

Suddenly he was laughing, smiling, and forgetting that Wanda hadn't been with him for the night.

Then his gaze flickered over once more, where the man was leaning down and crowding Wanda's body and she was shrinking against the wall and Pietro wasn't laughing anymore.

He tore away from the bar, even in his drunken state moving faster than he ever had before because she needed him, and she needed him now.

He slammed his open palm against the chest of the man, sending his body sprawling across the room. Pietro was on him immediantly, slamming the agent against the wall as his fists showered against his face.

People shouted behind them, but Pietro only saw the looming figure against his sisters tiny body, which suddenly seemed frail and delicate, not the girl who brought down worlds with her fingertips.

"Don't touch my sister, you fucking cunt." He snarled to the man, fighting against the hands that attempted to pry his body away.

In the end, only one pair of hands managed to loosen his grip, whispering soothing words in a language only they understood.

Wanda calmed her brother gently, pulling him down to press her forehead against his, her hands on his cheeks.

Pietro wound his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck, sighing in content as she tangled her fingers in his hair and whispered into his ear.

Already recovering from the alcohol that had once coursed through his system, Pietro looked away from Wanda for a moment, to glare at the room.

"If anyone tries to touch my sister again," he paused, moving to slip his hands against her legs so he could gather her against him (she didn't always let him carry her, but he thanked whatever God there was that she let him now.)

"I will kill them with my bare fucking hands." And he left, cradling her gently despite his fury.

When they got back to their small room, Pietro found solace in his sisters arms, his hot breath fanning out against her neck.

"I'm sorry, sister."

"Oh, Pietro, why on earth would you be sorry?" She stroked his hair gently as she spoke, his words mumbled against the skin of her neck.

"I-I embarrassed you. I was just- I was so angry. I thought that - that he might be hurting you and then I-"

She shushed him gently, gently easing his head back and placing his hands against his cheeks.

"You were worried, brother. You saw I was uncomfortable and yes, perhaps the death threat was a slight too extreme," he chuckled, tucking a loose strandril of hair against her ear.

"You were looking after me. You always look after me."

It was silent between them, though only for a moment. (A moment that stretched to fill out a canvas of eternity.)

"You are my everything, Wandika."

"As you are mine."

They smile at each other, and from the bounce of the moon's echo from their small window, Pietro thinks she has never looked more beautiful, than she does before him now.

She is light, and she is dark, and she is life and death, and she is joy and frustration and all that can fall between, and so it is on more than impulse and desire, than when Pietro finally leans down and joins her lips with his.

She tastes pure on his tongue, so much so that he fears he might burn against her, and so for a second he thinks he might pull away, but then her small hands reach to hold him against her, and he knows he is a doomed man.

She moans as she coils herself around him, and then she's suddenly against a wall and her legs are twined around his hips.

Her fingers slip under his jacket and push it away from his body, while his hands grip at her thighs, tearing his mouth away from hers to bite and suck at her neck, kissing a trail of fire up her skin.

Her fingers slip under his white shirt and pull him harder against her, laughing as he stumbles. Soon she tugs it away from him and kisses along the newly exposed skin, and he is only too happy to add her top (he still doesn't think it can be classified as that) to their growing pile of clothes on the floor.

She sucks a hickey onto his neck as his hands reach up to palm her breast, and his nimble fingers slip beneath her bra as she moans into his skin. His breath is ragged as he carries her over to the small bed, gripping the steel frame tightly as she arches up her hips into his center.

He tuggs her shorts off her legs quickly, and takes his time there, kissing along her calf before slowly reaching to plant hot kisses against the inside of her thigh, grinning as she fists the sheets tightly.

Shaking her head, Wanda drags Pietro back to her, pressing kisses against his face and angling him inside her.

They paint the sky with their pants and moans and need for one another, and the next morning, when Pietro and Wanda stumble from their bed at noon and walk with more than a stumble in their step, they only grin, and Thor barley contains his laughter.


End file.
